


An Average Morning at 221B

by flawedamythyst



Series: Skeletons [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-24
Updated: 2013-01-24
Packaged: 2017-11-26 16:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John wakes up to find a corpse having an argument with The British Government in his sitting room, watched by a skeleton in a burqa. Just another a normal day, then.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Average Morning at 221B

John woke up alone, which wasn't exactly a surprise. Sherlock didn't need to sleep, after all, so he usually only went to bed when John did in order to spend some time cuddling him (John was sure that Sherlock used a different word for it, but John had always thought you might as well call a spade a spade) and then slipped away once John was asleep.

He could hear raised voices from the sitting room, which probably meant that Mycroft had stopped by. Fantastic. John pulled himself out of bed, threw on a dressing gown, and headed out to find out what surprises were waiting for him.

Being the only flatmate who actually needed to sleep meant that John seemed to miss out on half the things that went on in 221B these days. Usually, this meant experiments that he would have objected to if he was awake, modifications to the furniture or fixtures that he then had to explain to Mrs. Hudson, or yet more of Sherrinford's macabre artwork covering every surface. Now that he had a body again, he spent most of his time painting large and detailed paintings of dead things, often inspired by the crime scene photographs that Sherlock left lying around. John didn't even attempt to explain those to Mrs. Hudson.

Mycroft was in the sitting room, leaning on his umbrella and giving Sherlock the little, humourless smile that meant he had found a good way to wind him up. Beside him was a woman in a burqa.

"Nevertheless, the fact remains that I am the only member of this family who has managed to remain alive thus far, and as such-" Mycroft was saying.

Sherlock interrupted him furiously. "Only because you never _do_ anything! I could have stayed alive too if I just shut myself in an office every day! It doesn't make you some sort of expert."

"You could have stayed alive if you hadn't thrown yourself off a roof," corrected Mycroft.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed with fury and John thought it was time to intervene. "Good morning," he said.

"Morning!" said the woman in the burqa brightly, and John realised it was Sherrinford. Right, of course, that made sense.

"John!" exclaimed Sherlock and he strode towards him, wrapped him in his arms and gave him a very thorough kiss. John was more than happy to let him, even if he knew that it was at least partially aimed at irritating Mycroft.

It worked. Mycroft let out a long sigh. "I see my chance to have a rational conversation with you has passed," he said. "Good morning, John."

John gave him a vague wave behind Sherlock's back, still engaged in the snog. There was another very long sigh, and John could feel Sherlock smiling against his mouth.

"You know, you make yourself far too easy to wind up,” said Sherrinford. “Come on, let's go.”

John pulled away from Sherlock, ignoring the tiny noise of protest that he made. “You're going out?” he asked.

“No, John, I've converted to Islam,” said Sherrinford, raising his arms to make the burqa flap. “Also, I'd like you to call me Sherrinfordina now. Sherrinfina? Sherrinfordia? Sherrinfelle? Sharonford? God, no, not that one.”

“We're going to the National Gallery,” interrupted Mycroft before Sherrinford got too carried away. “You are welcome to join us-”

“No, he isn't,” said Sherlock quickly. “He's coming with me.” He looked at John with an excited light in his eyes that could only mean one thing. “Lestrade called. There's a dead woman on the bridge in St. James's Park.”

“And he wanted a dead man to go and take a look?” said John.

Sherlock grinned at him. “Precisely.”

“Just the one dead man,” put in Mycroft. “No need for two.”

For some reason, this made Sherlock spin around angrily. “Piss off! Your opinion isn't wanted!”

Mycroft let out a long sigh, then opened his mouth. Sherrinford put a bony hand on his shoulder. “Leave it, Mycroft,” he said. “Stop winding him up.”

Mycroft shut his mouth again, but he gave Sherlock a look that John could tell meant this wasn't over, whatever it was.

“Bye, John, Sherlock,” said Sherrinford. “Have fun with the corpse!” He pushed Mycroft in the direction of the door, then followed him out.

Sherlock let out a long breath once they were gone, and turned back to half-embrace, half-collapse against John. “I hate him,” he said. “Why do I have to have two brothers? One would be quite enough.”

John rubbed his back carefully. “Want to tell me what that was about?” he asked.

Sherlock pressed his head into John's neck. “He's being an idiot,” he said. “He's never really made any friends with humans, you know. He just has the people at work, some of whom he sends out on dangerous missions that end up killing them. He thinks the only way to keep one of you safe - given that when you die, you're gone for good - is to lock you up and never let you have any fun.”

John thought about that. “He thinks you should be locking me up?” he asked.

Sherlock nodded against his shoulder. “You should be flattered,” he added. “It means he actually cares if something happens to you.”

“Right,” said John. “Well, as I keep telling you, I'm not actually that fragile-”

“Yes, you are,” interrupted Sherlock. John ignored him.

“-And if anyone tried to lock me up to keep me safe, I'd be furious.”

“Yes, I told him that,” said Sherlock, finally pulling away from John's embrace. “I suspect he still thinks of you as a sort of pet, and so what you want can be overridden.”

“Great,” said John. “Just what you want to hear.”

Sherlock shrugged. “His opinion doesn't matter,” he said. “Come on, go and get dressed so we can look at this dead woman.”

John looked down at his dressing gown and nodded. “Right.”

“I'll make you some toast while you do,” added Sherlock, which surprised John. All the Holmeses had a tendency to forget that John needed to eat on a regular basis.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the look on John's face. “Well, can you imagine how insufferable Mycroft would be if I let you starve to death?” he asked.

John laughed as he went to get dressed. “Yeah, you need to keep me fed and watered, and take me for regular walks.”

“I'm afraid that collars and leads aren't really my kind of kink,” Sherlock called as he turned to the difficult task of making toast without blowing anything up.

“Thank god for small mercies,” muttered John.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] An Average Morning at 221B](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10867458) by [consulting_smartass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/consulting_smartass/pseuds/consulting_smartass)




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